


Illaqueate

by ktenologious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Child abuse but times ten, Dubious Consent, M/M, Monsterfucking, Necrophilia, POV Alternating, Sibling Incest, its a giant lizard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-12-14 13:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21016205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktenologious/pseuds/ktenologious
Summary: And so, when the Professor tells them their mission for the month is to go after Miklan and the Lance of Ruin, Felix’s immediate reaction is to say:“No.”After years and years of watching a wound rot without doing anything about it, Felix tries to save Sylvain with his own rotten hands. On the other side of the wall, after years and years of trying to dig out the vile serpent nesting under Felix’s skin, Sylvain simply gives up.Also known as, Sylvain and Felix try to find the light, but keep being blinded by each other’s shades, ft. terrible brothers, terrible brotherly relationships, a corpse, maybe an escape in the shape of Ingrid having common sense (I lied, it won’t end well).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings**: I have stopped caring about keeping my dirty filthy hands away from my writing, so here we go. Warnings for this chapter are incest, non/dubcon, child sexual/physical/psychological abuse, inaction, unhealthy relationships; as for later on I guess monsterfucking, necrophilia, something more? I don’t know, you tell me.

Felix doesn’t know much of Miklan. He remembers very little, mostly because he got rid of lots of memories of his childhood to forget he was ever so _weak_, and Miklan went with them. Sylvain also never talks much about his brother, just mentioning him offhandedly whenever anyone asks about his family, so it has never been a topic, not really, unless it relates to his aversion for tall, narrow, dark and wet spaces.

He does have a very clear memory that involves Miklan, and it is from there that he bases his entire knowledge of the man on. 

They are in Gautier. Dimitri and Ingrid are there too, for some reason, even if they rarely come so far north. It is oddly sunny, a white blinding orb shining in the sky giving no warmth at all, and the snow around them is refreshed every long, 14-hour night. There are goats, and a horse, and a dead tree where Sylvain has hidden his stash of tiny Sreng-painted stones, and Miklan.

Miklan is too wild on horses, Glenn had once said. He would gallop and jump over rivers and trunks and fences, a mad grin on his face whenever he would run straight at people only to stop at the very last second. His hair is long, held back only by the bandana he refuses to let go of, and he wears heavy wool clothes that look like they took years to make.

So there they are, all four of them. Miklan is angry because he got told to take care of _the kids_ , but he is still showing Ingrid and Dimitri how to take care of giant warhorses, if only so they will stop bothering him. Felix is just sitting on the fence, fending off a goat who keeps trying to attack, and things are _calm_.

It is a rare memory of _calm_. Sylvain hadn’t been there, as he had been chasing a goat that had gotten loose somehow, and Glenn hadn’t been there either, stuck in the castle in a meeting with some border patrol, but it had been the closest to a peaceful moment in Felix’s early teenage years that he remembers it very clearly. He treasures the memory as it is, Ingrid gushing over horses, Dimitri being happy, and Miklan being an angry babysitter for the three of them.

What he remembers of Miklan is that. Wild horse riding, wilder looks, almost always angry, a messy mix of noble breed and goat herder with a soft spot for animals. 

What he remembers Miklan _for, _though, is different. It was never something confirmed, Sylvain prefering to laugh away the worries or just change the topic, but Felix knows, if only from years of watching and putting clues together.

He remembers Sylvain flinching from touch, bandages covering him whole. He remembers angry red marks and wounds on his chest, flashes of black bruises on his hips and waist and legs. A burn Felix has seen but once, right in the middle of his back, and four straight silvery lines barely visible under the longer strands of his hair.

Another memory, not as clear, fading into the darkness as Felix tries to forget about it, is of Fhirdiad. He has tried so hard to erase it from his childhood, from his past, from _Sylvain’s_ past, that at times he wonders if it is not some sick fantasy of his, some leftover of jealous_angry_sickening feelings for his own brother and more _wrongsinful _feelings for his best friend. He wonders, and then he does his best to not think about it, just in case he accidentally mentions it to Sylvain and messes up all he has not-really-worked-hard for.

The memory is of Fhirdiad, of a dark and cold night of many guests, of some ball when they were far too young to go to balls. He remembers sneaking with Dimitri and Ingrid to watch the guests, gossiping about people, laughing at some couples stepping on their feet with red faces and shy eyes. He had left them for some reason or another, going down a dark corridor that lead to the guest rooms, and followed Sylvain’s voice to an even darker corner.

He found Sylvain. He was dressed in dark colors as he often was, but some of his clothes were in disarray, his hair undone from the usual neat way his mother insisted on. He was pressed against the wall, hands held above his head as he whimpered and cried, a quiet and desperate repetition of protests coming from his lips. _No no not here not now Miklan-_

And there was Miklan, as wild as always, holding Sylvain’s wrists in a single hand, face buried in his brother’s neck. His leg was between Sylvain’s, moving up and down and up, and his other hand had crept below his brother’s clothes to do things unknown.

Miklan pressed closer, Sylvain’s eyes flying open as he gasped and trembled under his brother’s touch, quiet words growing louder and louder. He wrapped his arms around Miklan once he had been freed, hiding his face on Miklan’s shoulder, broken sobs and pleas and Miklan’s name the only thing he could say.

Felix watched. He watched as Miklan grinned, hands grabbing his brother’s thighs and hoisting him up, Sylvain’s legs coming around his waist. He watched as Miklan moved his hips, slow at first, but faster and rougher as Sylvain’s voice got louder and louder. He watched his _best friend _throw his head against the wall, small moans and incomprehensible words breaking past his lips, as he moved back against his brother in frantic desperation.

“Syl- Come for me, _Syl_-“

Felix barely remembers the memory most of the time, barely remembers how old they were (Sylvain’s hair had been long, Sylvain had cut his hair when he was _thirteen-_), but he does know he never used that _detestable_ name again. He remembers waking up sweat-soaked in the middle of the night, close to tears and crying for Sylvain, a warm steady _ache_ between his legs and below his stomach he refused to seek relief for. He remembers the bubbling _rage_ that fed his training for so long, that at times he still calls upon from the depths of his mind to force himself to go on: an urge to kill and free and _claim_ he will deny with all his soul if he is ever asked about.

(He dreams, some nights. He dreams of Sylvain, young Sylvain, _exquisitebeautiful what a shame he must age_, the shadow of expectations and people’s hungry, chasing eyes on him; he dreams of this Sylvain of years long gone, laying under him, whispering his name, tears rolling down his cheeks for Felix to kiss and lick and drink - _mineminemine_ and _pleasenomorefelixplease_ the only sounds he can hear before the scene cracks, falls, like broken glass cutting into his skin, the Sylvain of the present looming above him with a fake smile, _tell me, felix, what do you want?_ And he will wake up feeling disgusted with himself, feeling like three lives will not be enough to cleanse him from his thoughts, like he needs to at least atone by making sure Sylvain gets what he wants in life.)

Felix barely remembers Miklan, but he remembers the disgust, the rage, the tears and the constant need to put Sylvain in a small case of glass and stone to never let him dirty his hands again. He remembers Miklan as dark bruises on bare skin, wounds reopening under heavy bandages and one terrifying day of waiting for news in the middle of the night. He remembers Miklan as Sylvain never leaving a single millimeter of skin uncovered, as long hair over an ugly dark burn, as fake empty smiles and excuses to stay indoors.

And so, when the Professor tells them their mission for the month is to go after Miklan and the Lance of Ruin, Felix’s immediate reaction is to look them straight in the eye, nails digging in his thigh so deep he can draw blood, a harsh angry word barely heard past his gritted teeth:

“No.”

He doesn’t know if it is an almost instinctive response to the idea of Sylvain facing his brother (the idea of Sylvain trembling under Miklan’s hands, facing away and hiding his shame, voice muffled by rough kisses and sharp teeth-), if it is self preservation. He most definitely does not _want_ anyone to know of his less than innocent feelings for Sylvain, especially not Sylvain himself; he does not need anyone giving him ridiculous talks about how he should have spoken up, told someone -anyone!-, done his best to protect his better half in their childhood. He knows, he _knows_, he lives everyday with the reminder he knew what was happening and he was too scared to say anything, and yet-

And yet here, now, when he should speak up, with all his classmates looking at him with curious eyes and Byleth motioning him to go on, all he can do is repeat himself:

“No.” He can hear the almost silent shuffle of feet behind him, Sylvain slipping back into the dark and cold and narrow corners of the classroom, possibly wide eyed and holding back cries as his mind slides away and away and _ away _ ; he can hear Dimitri and Ingrid from his memories asking why he looks like he has been crying, what’s wrong, Felix, but all he can think about is how he watched and _ watched and did nothing else but leave his most precious person behind to be devoured by a monster-_

“No,” he repeats, again and again and again, a distraction for Sylvain to flee to his room, to curl up somewhere safe, to stay away; let Felix and only Felix be the one interrogated about this matter, let him keep his dreams and memories inside his head instead of leaking into reality.

It is pointless, in the end. They end up with the mission, with Miklan and the Lance in their future (wild grins and wilder eyes, twitching bone drawing blood and piercing through his palm), and once again all Felix can do is watch.

(That night, when he tries to knock on Sylvain’s door, a well known and loved hand stops him. He stands there, head leaning against wood, listening as he always does as Sylvain apologizes for being born, apologizes for not being enough, apologizes for _existing_ to a man who won’t ever hear or care.

He listens, Glenn’s hand held firmly in his own, bleached bone a comfort he knows he should not enjoy yet can’t ever let go of. He listens, and wonders if maybe he can take Sylvain and leave, take Ingrid and Dimitri and lock them up, hide down in the catacombs until life is over and he can finally, finally _exist with no fear-_

He listens, and wonders if they will ever be alright.)


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri, and the truth of Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** implied necro, mentioned grave robbing. Short chapter, and no much Sylvie or Miklan here... next chapter though...

No matter what he, or any of his friends, say, none of them really knew Glenn.

Maybe that is a lie. Dimitri knew Glenn, or at least he knew of _one part _ of Glenn. He knew Knight Glenn, the prodigious man who had been knighted at fourteen. He knew Ingrid’s Glenn, the crazy man who would show off by trying to shoot a bird while doing a handstand. He could even say he knew Sylvain’s Glenn, not very well, that annoying man who tried to adopt all cats in Gautier just to bother their redhead friend. He knew these Glenn, and maybe some others: Rodrigue’s Glenn was similar to the Knight with some more condescension, Lambert’s Glenn was polite and respectful, Miklan’s Glenn was cold and indifferent.

Dimitri’s Glenn was different. He was both brother and guard, made of quiet laughter, swords and bows thrown around a room, and lockpicks hidden in his belt. He was not quite a Knight and not quite a Shade, but rather somewhere in-between: dutiful and quick, observant and quiet. He always trailed behind people, never in front of them. He could not cast a spell to save his life, and could never cut his hair evenly. 

Glenn was a disaster. Dimitri can say so, objectively, just as he can say what Glenn was not: not loud, not organized, not a fan of horses. Not a thief, no matter his skills. Not strong, either, but because Dimitri’s measurement of strength is flawed. Not Felix nor Rodrigue.

In the end, Glenn changed faces, maybe as often as Sylvain did back then. Ingrid had once said they were trying to compete for best actor: she always rooted for Glenn, while Dimitri and Felix went for Sylvain. Their masks were similar, yet born out of different needs, and they changed them just as often as each other. They never seemed _ fake,_ but never seemed quite real either. They were just that: masks.

Dimitri cannot say he knew Glenn, because Glenn only showed his real self when in front of Felix, and Felix has never spoken about Glenn, not the way others do. Felix’s Glenn was the sum of the masks, the only _ whole _ Glenn, the Glenn that had fears and insecurities and failures. The Glenn everyone else would have liked to meet.

Maybe that is why Felix never got over Glenn’s death.

Well, Dimitri never did either. Glenn is currently trailing behind him, holding his insides in one hand, haunted and terrible. Glenn is part of Death’s cohort, Dimitri’s honor guard in this joke of a life he still has, just like Father and Mother and Commander Rowan’s unit. They whisper truths and lies and promises and pleas, like the scratches of vermin hiding inside the walls. Always there, always present, never silent.

This Glenn, though, is not really Glenn. The Glenn that follows Dimitri is but a ghost, because the real Glenn is hiding under Felix’s bed.

Felix’s room is a mess. It is no surprise no one ever comes in here, not that Felix would invite anyone in, because finding one’s way around the scattered swords and knives and arrowheads is impossible, or maybe Dimitri is exaggerating. He might be. But it is quite terrible, it has always been. Sylvain had tried to clean around Felix once, and ended up faking a tantrum. Ingrid was also quite the disaster herself, but Felix was something else.

Under the bed, there is a chest. It is small, heavy and rattles when it is moved. Felix doesn’t worry much about people finding it, even though he would: he is sure his mess will keep people away. He also doesn’t care to secure it, or maybe he just forgot, but Dimitri has always found the thing unlocked. Ever since he first found it three years ago, to this day.

Felix should take better care of his brother.

After making sure no one is near, Dimitri opens the chest. Inside he finds an ugly knife and a chain of coins (exactly twenty-one coins, though the last four weren’t originally there), some velvety cloth and a crude carving of a wolf. There is also ring, a lock of hair and a small glass bottle tinted black. The whole chest is the undeniable proof that Felix is a hypocrite, clinging to his past even more than Ingrid ever does.

Ingrid did not rob a grave. _ Felix _ did.

Glenn’s skull and one of his hands rest under the cloth, still much the same as they have always been. There is only one hand however, probably because Felix is carrying the other one with him: risky as it is, Dimitri knows he cannot be at ease without at least one part of his brother near him at all times. Still, they are exquisitely cared for, impressive considering Felix doesn’t have his tools here with him.

He wonders if they have found the rest of the body in Felix’s room yet. Hard to say. Felix’s room back in Fraldarius is a mess, even more than here in Garreg Mach, but Glenn is kept almost in plain sight. He is just… there.

It would be amazing, if it wasn’t so creepy.

Once Dimitri is done speaking to Glenn, he puts everything back where he found it and leaves the room. As soon as he closes the door, though, a voice interrupts his thoughts:

“What are you doing?”

He turns, and there is Sylvain. He is just standing there, buttoning his shirt because he probably just got up —it is midday, if there is nothing urgent Sylvain won’t get up before midday. Dimitri thinks that it is a waste of perfectly good daylight, but Gautier’s days are different than most of Faerghus, as it is so far north. The lack of eyebags is also telling enough of the fact he is wearing makeup, though Dimitri does not understand what is the point.

“I was…” What can he say? He was snooping around Felix’s room looking for a corpse? Yeah, he can’t say that. Sylvain _ does _ know about his problems, but that might be too much even for him. “...talking to Glenn.”

“In… Felix’s room?” Sylvain looks doubtful for maybe a second before he just shakes his head. “You know what, I’m not asking.”

Together, they walk downstairs. Sylvain doesn’t talk much lately: he looks weary, tired, a little more stressed than usual- not that he would _ show _ he is stressed, because Sylvain’s masks are something else, but he has looked worse than usual after their monthly mission got announced. Miklan has always been an untouchable topic to him, so Dimitri isn’t going to ask, but he is worried about one of his closest friends.

He has the right to be worried, right? Sylvain is his friend, as are the rest of the Blue Lions, and this year has been unusually rough on them all. Rougher than other years.

Still, they are leaving tomorrow, and they have to prepare for their trip to Conand Tower. Whatever is it they will find there, they will deal with it as it comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come talk to me @ ktenologious in Twitter. We have a ‘bully Sylvain’ server in the making to discuss things like this lmao... As for other things, do drop comments!

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write Miklan and Sylvain being unhealthy and codependent but instead it ended up in _two whole_ sets of brothers being unhealthy and codependent. Great!
> 
> Seriously tho, I wanted to write Jeritza/Byleth necro but instead here I am posting this thing... I want Sylvain to suffer... so much.. I don’t think you can understand lMAO give me ideas...
> 
> Also if you recognize me, don’t? You can come yell at me @ ktenologious in twitter if you don't know where else to find me!


End file.
